


In This Valley of Dying Stars

by Scarlet



Category: The Fall (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2728397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet/pseuds/Scarlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The days following episode 2x03. CHAPTER SIX IS UP AT LONG LAST!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Since AO3 makes this easy, I'm posting this as a WIP. So you may not want to start reading just yet, but it's out there if you're curious. In my 16 years of fanfic writing, this is my first foray outside the X-Files fandom. This is also my first slash story, so please, don't be gentle with me. I will welcome any criticisms or advice you may have.
> 
> Also, I work in layers. Which means I keep going back to the various chapters to tweak things, adding lines here, changing words there, until the story is completed. So, if you're one of the patient souls who is reading as I post, just be aware that the chapters you've already read may have undergone slight changes since.

 

_The eyes are not here_  
_There are no eyes here_  
_In this valley of dying stars_  
_In this hollow valley_  
_This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms_

  
_T.S. Eliott - The Hollow Men._

  
May 6th 2012  
  
Reed removed her helmet. Stella was coming towards her, her pale face and impeccably tailored black coat a sharp contrast with the lush green woodland around them.  
  
"Are you sure you're okay to do this?" Stella asked. Her voice sounded hoarse and tired.  
  
Reed nodded. "Yeah, I am."  
  
Stella shot her a tight smile and went to grab an over-suit from the back of a vehicle.  
  
Morning afters were always awkward, Reed mused, trying to distract herself from thinking about the possibility that it could be Rose's lifeless body up there. All right, this wasn't a typical morning after, but it was an after of sorts. Casting a sideways glance towards Stella, who was unfolding her white suit next to the police car, she wondered how what had happened/not happened last night would affect their budding friendship. The detective was a mystery wrapped inside an enigma, something which appealed to Reed, who had always been a sucker for puzzles. She liked Stella.  
  
And last night, she had liked her a lot.

It had taken her by surprise, this attraction. To a woman, no less. Though if she were perfectly honest, it did explain this vibe, connection, whatever it was that had been coursing between them like a shuttle on a loom ever since they first met.

Is this why you ran?

 _Oh shut up_ , she scolded herself.

She pulled the hood over her head, secured the white mask in place. A few steps away, Stella was snapping a pair of purple gloves on.

Once suited up, they followed Schwarz and his CSI team up the narrow path.

The body was lying face down among the brown leaves. Obviously female. Young. It could very well be Rose.  
  
Reed pushed down the anguish that bubbled up inside her. She let her mind solidify the way it did whenever she had to cut a body open or plunge her hands inside a chest cavity. She breathed in slowly, calmly, several times. Her head was clearing up now, her thoughts smooth and cold as an ice floor, the turmoil below out of reach.  
  
They approached the body carefully. Dried leaves and branches crunched under her feet, the sounds too loud as if the woods themselves were lacking respect for the dead.

No more than a minute must have elapsed between the moment she had knelt next to the body and the moment she found out it could not be Rose, thanks to the lack of C-section scar. But she felt she'd been leaning over that corpse, breathing in the smell of decay, for much longer than that.

"It's not Rose," she confirmed to Stella.  
  
The detective exhaled a sigh of relief. Their eyes met. Gibson knew exactly what Reed had been going through in the past 60 seconds. There was understanding there. Kinship.  
  
~~~  
  
It was mid-afternoon by the time they finished working on the crime scene. The DSI had been all business, ordering people around and bringing a new guy –  a young investigator called Anderson –  up to speed with the case. They hadn't spoken much to one another during that time, and when they had, there had been little warmth in Stella's voice. The pathologist knew better than to take it personally. Both women were expert at compartmentalizing.  
  
Reed tugged the zipper of her over-suit down, grateful for the fresh air on her neck. The outfit made her feel quite claustrophobic and it was always a relief to get it off.  
  
"Do you need a ride back into town?" she asked Stella, who was dropping her own gear in the back of a van. She'd seen her give the keys of her BMW to Ferrington earlier.  
  
"I need many things," the woman deadpanned, straightening her coat.  
  
Reed tilted her head. _Come on, Stella, let's not do this now_ , her eyes said.  
  
The detective's piercing blue stare made her stomach flutter but Reed did not blink.  
  
A curt nod.  
  
Reed handed her the spare helmet.  
  
~~~  
  
She dropped Stella at the station. She had to go to the hospital to get a head start on the paperwork before the body arrived at the morgue.  
  
"Meet me for a drink later tonight?" she asked Gibson as the woman gave her back the silver helmet.    
  
Stella lifted an eyebrow.  
  
"I should have some partial autopsy results by then," Reed added.  
  
The Superintendent kept looking at her, saying nothing.  
  
Reed dipped her chin, feeling her cheeks burn. What the hell was she think -  
  
"And there I was, thinking I'd spooked you out of my life," Stella finally said in those low tones that made Reed's spine hum like a tuning fork.  
  
"You haven't," the pathologist replied simply.  
  
Stella held her gaze, her expression unreadable.  
  
Reed lowered her visor, revved up her engine and drove away.  
  
She was not going to beg.    
  
~~~~

Stella did turn up in her office later that night. Reed noticed how exhausted the detective was even as she questioned her about the young woman they'd found in the woods in a rasping monotone. The pathologist almost suggested a rain check for those drinks, but curiosity was gnawing at her. She'd heard through the hospital's grapevine that a forensics team had been dispatched at the Merchant Hotel in the early hours of the morning and she wondered what Stella knew about that. Schwarz had been terribly cagey when she'd asked him about it. _There is no dead body, that's all you need to know_ , was pretty much how she could sum up his reply. 

Stella had fallen asleep on her sofa while she finished completing the C1 postmortem form for their Jane Doe . Sleep took years off her graceful features, frowns and lines of worry vanished. Reed tried very hard not to find this terribly endearing.

~~~  
  
"What on Earth are you doing?"

Reed felt a spark of irritation. The detective had pulled the drawer open without asking her if it was okay to do so. The morgue was her domain, and finding Stella with her elbow resting on the tray where a poor woman was lying naked felt like an overstepping of boundaries.  
  
"Wondering where Rose is," Gibson replied, staring at their Jane Doe from the woods.  
  
There must have been something in the set of her jaw, because Stella stepped away, pushed the tray back and closed the heavy door.  
  
"Her name is Marina McPhearson," Stella continued, in a flat tone. "Drug convictions, various calls to suicide helplines. She left a note to her mother."  
  
"She killed herself?" Reed asked. A rhetorical question.  
  
"It looks that way," Stella said, shoving her hands in her coat pockets. She looked pale and worn under the harsh lights of the morgue.  
  
Reed regretted her flare of temper. Nothing Stella did was ever gratuitous when it came to the victims. She did not know how looking at the corpse of a young drug addict who had most likely taken her own life could help her find Rose, but who was she to question the methods of a superintendent? Stella was an unusual woman; it seemed fitting that her investigative methods would be equally unorthodox.  
  
"Come on, you look like you could use a drink," she told her.  
  
Stella buttoned up her coat. "Where are you taking me?"  
  
"There are a few nice pubs within walking distance of your hotel."  
  
"I am sleeping at the station tonight," Gibson said evenly.  
  
"Why?" The pathologist asked point blank.  
  
"Paul Spector was in my room last night."  
  
"What?" Reed choked out.  
  
Stella shrugged. "I only found out once he was gone."  
  
Reed brushed a hand over her face, not believing what she was hearing. At least now she knew why forensics had been at the Merchant. "Why didn't you call me?"  
  
"Because you were brought up in Croydon?"  
  
"Dammit, Stella!" Reed snapped, slamming her hand against the nearest stainless steel table, "How can you joke about this?"  
  
"Because I cannot deal with the alternative right now."  
  
Reed lowered her head, closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She often forgot how painfully honest Stella could be.  
  
When she looked up, the DSI had turned her back to her and was staring at the door beyond which Marina's body laid.  
  
Reed cursed under her breath. She walked towards Stella to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Under her fingertips, muscles tensed then relaxed. "Come on," she said, "I'm taking you home."

Stella turned her head to catch her eyes. "Home?"

"My home," Reed answered.  
  
Not waiting for a reaction, she headed towards the locker room where her leather jacket and bike gear were. Behind her, the clicks of Stella's heels following echoed across the room.

.../...


	2. Hearth

May 6th 2012

Stella stood in the driveway under a clear starry sky, her borrowed helmet dangling from her fingers. The tarmac felt steady and solid under her feet. It was a little thing but these days she welcomed any sense of stability she could find. She looked up at the large country house in front of her. Red bricks, slate roofs, but a decidedly modern shape. Large bay windows were reflecting Reed's motorcycle headlights. Behind her the pathologist removed the key from the ignition and stepped off her Suzuki. She checked the kick stand was firmly into place with the tip of her boot. She removed her own helmet, tucked it under her arm, and, digging inside one of the many pockets of her leather jacket, retrieved a set of keys.

"Nice house," Stella commented as they walked towards the building.

"Expensive house," Reed huffed.

The way she said it suggested this hadn't been her choice.

Reed unlocked the front door. A loud beeping started and the woman hurried to enter a code on a nearby keypad with a muttered curse.

Stella winced. "I guess we woke your daughters up."

"They're not here," Reed replied, turning round to face her.

Stella frowned. "Wh --"

Her friend held up one hand. "Wait for it..."

A long, soulful howl started outside.

"There it is. Neighbours' dog," Reed explained.

Stella's lips quirked into a smile.

“And you can be sure its owners will catch me at some point tomorrow to commiserate on my crazy working hours," Reed added, pulling her boots off.

"Did you tell them you cut people open for a living?"

"I did. They're not impressed. I guess I'm just not scary enough." She locked the door behind her, looked over her shoulder with a grin. "I should send you over to say hi."

Stella lifted an amused eyebrow. "You think I'm scary?"

"Terrifying," Reed replied, and although she was smiling as she said it, she held Stella's gaze just a little too long.

~~~

"Make yourself at home," she told the detective as they entered the spacious living room. "I dropped the kids off with my brother this morning, when I heard about the body," she explained, before disappearing into the kitchen.

Stella removed her coat and left it on the back of an intricately carved chair. The room was all wood and leather and warm earthy colours. There were plants everywhere, toys, too.

She sat down on the wide sofa, running a hand on the armrest. The tawny leather was worn and soft to the touch. She kicked her shoes off and tucked her feet underneath her, let her head fall back, closed her eyes. There were sounds coming from the kitchen. A fridge door being opened, cupboard doors slamming shut, the clink of ice cubes against glass, a chair being pushed, feet scraping against tiled flooring, running water. Home sounds. Safe sounds. Her eyelids felt heavy, she could have gone to sleep again right there, but she wanted to stay awake just to enjoy the moment.

"The guest bedroom is the second room upstairs to your left," Reed's voice was suddenly closer. "The bathroom is right opposite. Towels are in the oak chest."

Stella opened her eyes. Reed joined her on the sofa, two glasses in her hands. She held one of the drinks towards her. "Whisky, neat, if I remember correctly."

Stella smiled. "Perfect. Thanks."

Reed set what looked like a gin and tonic on a coaster then turned towards her, mirroring her position.

"All right. Talk."

Stella took a slow sip from her whisky. "Are you always this bossy at home?"

Reed nodded. "You have no idea. My family calls me Citizen Cane."

"Citizen Kane?"

"Cane, with a C. As in inflexible reed?"

Stella threw her head back, laughing. "Oh, Jesus, that's a terrible pun."

"So I keep telling them." Reed laughed as well.

Stella smiled, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her free hand.

"I don't think I've ever heard you laugh," the pathologist noted.

Stella brought the glass to her lips again. "Neither have I you. Not many opportunities in our line of work, I suppose."

Reed sobered up. "Tell me what happened last night," she insisted.

Stella sighed, set her glass down. She rubbed her hands together, feeling them suddenly go numb. She didn't want to bring those memories up in this peaceful place. Didn't want the ugliness, the sense of violation that clung to her lungs like wet cloth, the dark dark dark things that lurked inside her head.

"Stella," Reed repeated softly.

Swim through it, she told herself. Dive and swim quickly to the other side. "The security camera caught him entering my room at 22:14," she began, "while we were downstairs." She caught Reed's eyes, watched them widen, noticed her faint blush. "He stayed about an hour."

Reed did the math. "Oh God, he was still in your room when you came back?" Instinctively, she reached out for Stella's hand, which had clenched in a fist by her side.

Stella nodded. "He was hiding in the closet." She looked at her glass, wanting to finish it in one swallow. Instead she unclenched her fist, turned her hand palm up, feeling Reed's fingers slide between hers. The contact soothed her. "Then Jim Burns came. We had an … argument."

"An argument?"

"It's not important."

"Oh, come on..."

She shook her head. "What I mean is: it's not relevant."

Reed pursed her lips then nodded. "All right. Continue."

"He left while Jim and I were in the bathroom."

Reed frowned. "What were you..." she paused, thought better of it, squeezed her fingers, "Okay, forget I asked."

"This is --"

"Not relevant, I get it." Reed chewed her lip, “How did you know he'd been there?”

“He changed my laptop wallpaper to Fuseli's _The Nightmare_.”

“The arrogant bastard,” Reed seethed.

Stella closed her eyes briefly. She felt so drained suddenly. "Anyway, that's the gist of it," she finished.

She did not mention her diary, did not want to even think about her diary. She'd told Jim because he would have found out about it anyway, but Reed did not need the information and Stella would have felt no better telling her about it. She looked up, read the mix of outrage and concern in her friend's eyes.

"In a way, this is a good thing," she said.

"You are the new chew toy of a homicidal maniac. Please, explain to me how this is a good thing?" Reed scoffed.

"Because we have a better chance of catching him if I'm the bait."

"This is crazy."

"Everything about this is crazy."

Stella looked down. Their hands were still joined, fingers intertwined. This wasn't the way friends held hands.

_Everything about this is crazy._

Stella pulled her hand away, lifted an arm to cushion her head against the back of the sofa. All she could see in her field of vision were Reed's lips. She wanted to kiss her so badly. Alcohol was making her careless. Again.

"Stella, I'm married," Reed blurted out.

Stella smiled softly. "I know. To one Professor James Alexander Smith currently on a ten-month expedition to the Himalayas to study the medicinal properties of a rare type of fern. A trip which followed a six-month trek to South Africa, where he did research on the Betulina Barosma." She ran a hand through her hair, stretched her arm on the back of the sofa. "Your husband spends more time with his plants than he does with you."

Reed bristled. "And this is the part where you're telling me I am in no way under surveillance."

Stella straightened up, rubbing both hands over her thighs. "I have come across your husband's work in the past." Catching Reed's incredulous stare, she added: "Notwithstanding the fact that this information is widely available online."

"You googled my husband?"

Stella shrugged. "Little point in chasing what I can't have."

Reed let out a surprised cough. "Aren't you a little presumptuous, Madam Superintendent?"

"I didn't think I was at the time."

Reed dipped her head. "Look, I'm sorry if I –"

Stella leaned forward and cupped her cheek, stroking the soft skin of her jaw with her thumb. "Shhh, it's okay."

Reed let out a heavy sigh.

"It's okay," Stella repeated. She kissed her forehead and pulled back. "I'm going to bed," she said, standing up.

She didn't look back as she headed for the stairs. She only had so much willpower.

.../...


	3. Water

May 7th 2012

Silence was what woke Reed up. She gazed hazily towards the alarm clock. 5:23 am. This was usually the time when she would hear the pitter-patter of little feet, followed by impatient “Mummy, are you awake?” stage whispers. Her sudden yawn ended on a smile. The loving morning snuggles that ensued were usually worth being woken up for.

Reed threw back the duvet and got up. She drew the thick ivory blackout curtains open to look through the window. A thin morning mist was meandering at lawn level. It would dissipate soon. The sky was clear. It was going to be a nice spring day.

As she padded towards her bathroom, she heard a door open and shut somewhere in the house. It seemed Stella was an early riser as well.

Stella.

Reed looked over her shoulder. On the bedside table, James was smiling broadly at her from within his picture frame.

 _My handsome husband_ , she thought. They had met at university when they were both in the third year of their respective fields of studies, medicine and botany. James was six feet tall, of Irish and Caribbean descent. He wasn't the nice Indian boy the more conservative side of her family would have liked her to marry, but her parents didn't care as long as she was happy. And she had been happy. Very much so. Early in their relationship, they'd agreed their careers would come first and had stuck to their word. They'd waited to be in their thirties to start a family. James stayed home the first four years so she could continue working between her pregnancies. Of course it meant he also chose the kind of home they were going to raise their daughters in, hence this extravagant property. She missed the cosiness of their old South Belfast flat, but never had the heart to go against his wishes. James liked wide open spaces, large windows everywhere and swimming pools. She liked old stones, smoky fireplaces, low ceilings with wooden beams, stained glass windows and quaint pocketsize English gardens. One of them had to compromise.

Anyway. James had paid his dues. It was his turn to follow his dreams.

_Why didn't you say this to Stella? Why did you let her believe you and your husband were pretty much estranged?_

_I don't know._

_Don't you?_

Reed looked down at the toothbrush in her hand. She had been going through her morning routine without realising it. She rinsed her mouth and looked up at her reflection in the mirror.

She loved James, but not in the same way she'd loved him twenty years ago. There had been a slow erosion of feelings as time went by; and sometimes, she longed for the unbridled lust of their early years together. They didn't need each other as much as they used to. This said, they had always both been very self-sufficient people and she suspected this was one of the reasons they had clicked with one another in the first place.

Best friends with benefits raising children together. Is that what they had become? Had they ever been anything else?

Then along came Stella. Beautiful, tightly wound Stella, who looked at her with eyes full of dark needs and promised sins.

Stella. The woman who, two nights ago, caused her to fall asleep with a hand buried between her legs.

_The woman you invited to sleep under your roof last night. What on earth were you thinking?_

_Nothing happened._

_Because she didn't take advantage of the situation. Because you said no once and she respects that. Respects you._

_But you wanted her to go ahead anyway._

_No._

_Liar. You wanted her to strip you naked on that sofa and do things to you your husband has grown too lazy to._

“No!” The word burst out loud. She leaned her flushed forehead against the cool surface of the mirror, watching her breath fog the glass in increments as she waited for her pulse to stop racing.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

~~~~

“Stella?”

She wasn't in the kitchen or the living room. Reed would have heard if a taxi had picked her up. She had to be somewhere in the house. The conservatory, maybe? James's orchids collection was a sight to behold. The pathologist went to the coffee machine and grabbed the glass jug. As she filled it with water, watching the liquid rise steadily, she started to smile.

_Oh, I know where she is._

Reed exited the kitchen through the back door and walked across the stepping stones leading to their covered swimming pool – James's thirty-fifth birthday present to himself – which stood a few yards away from the house. Reed thought it was a waste of money when there were perfectly serviceable public pools around. This was another thing she hadn't had the last word on.

She opened the glass door and the warmth, humidity and smell of chlorine greeted her all at once.

She was right. Stella was in there, doing laps. Reed took her shoes off and quietly walked to the edge of the pool. Stella's crawl was flawless. James would have been impressed.

And apart for the elastic band holding her hair back in a ponytail, she wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing.

“I do own swim suits, you know?” Reed called out across the swimming pool. “All you had to do was ask.”

Stella stopped swimming and looked up at her, treading water.

“I left my kit at the station and I didn't want to wake you. I hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all.”

Reed cast a glance to her left and saw a bright green bath towel neatly folded on the white sun lounger. Well, at least she had found something to dry herself with.

“Enjoy. There will be fresh coffee for you when you come out,” she told Stella as she went to retrieve the old pair of trainers she'd left by the door.

The chirp of a mobile phone echoed against the glass panels of the structure.

“Wait. Could you please answer this for me?” Stella asked, swimming towards the aluminium ladder.

“Of course.” Reed went to pick up the phone Stella had left on the small plastic table next to the lounger.

“Detective Superintendent Gibson's phone,” she answered formally. Behind her, Stella was probably rolling her eyes.

Reed listened to the voice on the other end.

“Yes, this is Professor Reed Smith.”

“No, she's here. Do you need to speak to her?”

“All right, I will tell her. Thanks.”

Reed dropped the phone back on the table. “That was Eastwood,” she said, turning round. “He wanted to –”

The words died in her throat. Stella had climbed up the pool ladder and was walking towards her like it was the most natural thing in the world, dripping water and grace like a Botticelli's Venus.

Reed couldn't help but stare. The woman was exquisitely proportioned, her ossature small and delicate, the curves of her body quintessentially feminine, skin pale as the magnolias that grew behind her house. But the toned, lean muscles on her arms, legs and stomach spoke of a Spartan physical regimen. She was probably much stronger than what people gave her credit for.

Stella walked past her to grab the towel, unfolding it and wiping her face. Only then did she look up to meet Reed's eyes, the corners of her lips twitching up.

Reed lowered her head with a self-conscious grin. _You are not going to make any of this easy for me, are you, Stella?_

“What did Eastwood want?” The detective asked, her voice warm and liquid like the pool's water. She wrapped the towel around her, tucking a corner in to hold it in place.

“You have a morning prayer at eight,” Reed replied.

Stella nodded. “Anything else?”

“No, should there be?”

A shrug. “I guess not.”

They walked together back to the house. Stella went upstairs to take a shower and get dressed while Reed filled two steaming mug of coffee and made some toast.

Stella joined her at the kitchen table. “I called a taxi,” she said. “It should be here in five minutes.”

Reed handed her a mug. “I could have given you a ride back to the station,” she said.

Stella took a sip of coffee, looked at her over the rim. “Let's not feed the PSNI gossip mill. Eastwood probably thinks we spent the night together.”

“We did spend the night together,” Reed said with a playful smirk. "And since when do you care what people think? "

"I don't, but you live here."

"Something which was already true when you kissed me in Bert's Bar," Reed pointed out.

Stella made a sound in the back of her throat. "Do you need me to apologise?"

"No."

"I made a mistake."

"No, you didn't," Reed said softly.

Stella calmly set her mug down. She did not say anything any more, just held her gaze steadily.

Time slowed down. Reed could feel the warmth of the mug against her fingertips, hear the drip of the kitchen tap that needed a new washer, taste the bitterness of black coffee on her tongue and teeth. And Stella, Stella, Stella, blue eyes unblinking, uncompromising. Her desire blunt, unequivocal. _I want you_.

Outside there was the crunch of gravel as a car made its way up the driveway.

Stella blinked, broke eye contact. “My taxi is here,” she said, standing up abruptly.

Reed followed her into the hallway, feeling light-headed.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” the detective said sincerely, opening the door with one hand, holding her black handbag in the other.

Reed shot her a small smile. “Anytime.”

And she was gone.

Reed leaned heavily against the wooden door, banged the back of her head against it a couple of times, exhaled deeply.

“Oh, fuck.”

 

.../...


	4. Heart

May 8th 2012

Stella comes back to her temporary office in the Serious Crime Unit. Slumping bonelessly in her chair, she checks her watch. It's almost 1am. Spector is sleeping in a cell. Belfast is a little safer tonight; and yet, Rose is still out there, dead or alive, or maybe fluctuating between the two – an horrific Schroedinger riddle.

Stella tilts her head back, covering her face with both hands, focusing on her breath rushing in and out between her lips. There is a tightness behind her eyes, the beginning of a headache. Her body needs to either swim, fuck, or sleep. It’s too late for option one, she doesn't have any candidates handy for option two, which leaves option three. Spector won't be available for questioning for another seven hours or so – she might as well go get some sleep.

She wonders what his dreams are made of.

She leans down to grab her handbag, finds her car keys, tosses them on the desk and comes across her phone. She checks her messages. One is from Reed: _I heard Spector was arrested. Any news from Rose?_

She dials her number, letting her mind drift away from the events of the day, wondering what the pathologist's sleep-laden voice will sound like. Will she hear that slight Asian lilt that curls so seductively around her words after a few drinks?

_Don’t._

Reed picks up on the fourth ring. “Hey. What's up?”

She sounds wide awake. Stella smirks. Fate is not playing along. Maybe she should take it as a sign.

“Am I waking you?” Stella asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“No. I'm still at work, finishing the autopsy on William Nash.” Stella hears the distant clang of metallic objects against metallic surfaces. “I guess congratulations are in order.” Reed says.

“We still don't know where Rose is.” There is no point in keeping the woman's hopes up.

There is the sharp snap of nitrile gloves being pulled off. “Did Spector say anything?”

The detective stands up, picks up her coat and slips it on. She grabs her keys from the desk. “He's not talking. But I think she may still be alive.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Evidence we retrieved.” Stella closes the office door behind her. “I'm sorry, that’s all I can share over the phone.”

There is a long pause. Stella almost thinks the line has gone dead as she walks out of the building towards her car, the cool night air a welcome caress against her skin.

“Can I see you?” Reed's voice is hesitant.

“Now?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. I didn't realise it was so late. Forget I asked.”

“I didn't say no,” Stella points out, opening her car's door and sliding inside. “I'm driving back to my hotel. Meet me there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She hangs up.

_Well, well, option two may still be on the cards after all._

_Come on. She's worried about Rose_. 

_I know_. 

_Remember what you told Jim. Going after her was a mistake. You can't use her, fuck her like the others._

_I know._

_And what are you going to tell her? That her friend begged and swore and flirted and tried every trick in the book to get that bastard to let her go? Are you going to tell her how she screamed herself hoarse while tied to a chair?_

Stella feels the sting in her sinuses again. _No, of course not._

_So then what?_

_I'll improvise._

_Right._

~~~~

Reed is waiting for her in the deserted lobby, both hands shoved in the pockets of her leather jacket.

“Hi,” her smile is tired but genuine.

Stella smiles back, rubbing her hands together to warm them. Lack of sleep always makes her colder. Reed probably has a scientific explanation for it. “Come on,” she tells her.

Reed follows her down the corridor, their heels like firecrackers against the marble floor.

“Please, don't say 'déjà-vu',” the pathologist pleads as they both wait for the lift.

“I won't.”

“Good.”

They don't say anything else until they reach her room.

“Is that the same room...” Reed let her sentence trail off.

“No. It looks exactly the same, though,” Stella replies, using her key-card.

“But it's not the same.”

“No.”

Their eyes lock for the first time since they met downstairs in the lobby. Something unfurls and hooks itself inside Stella's chest.

_Don't go there._

She pushes the door open and walks inside, switching the lights on. Reed follows her in. Stella drops her bag on the bed. “Would you like something to drink?”

Reed unzips her leather jacket. “No, thank you. If I start drinking now, I'll never leave.”

Stella takes her coat off, half a dozen suggestive come-backs scrolling inside her head. She keeps them to herself.

They sit side by side on the small sofa and Stella tells her about the video they found on Spector's phone. She chooses her words carefully. Rose is kept prisoner in a room somewhere. Spector filmed her, pleading him to let her go. The file itself is three days old.

“I'm hoping this means she's still alive. If he intended to kill her, he would have done it already. He must have known we would find this video if he were caught. She's the only bargaining chip he's got left...” she flicks a speck of lint off her black skirt “... that we know of.” She adds as an afterthought.

Reed nods. “He knows her. It might be harder for him to objectify her, harder to acquire the necessary detachment that made killing the other women easy.”

“Let's hope so.”

“Did she look okay?”

Stella stands up, opens the complimentary bottle of Midleton whiskey the hotel staff left on the small table as an apology. They're beginning to know her tastes. “She's a fighter,” she replies cautiously.

Reed looks up. “Why do I feel there is something you're not telling me?”

Rose's ragged screams echo against Stella's ear drums. She swallows a mouthful of her drink. The alcohol burning the inside of her cheeks pulls her back. “This is all I can give you.”

Reed holds her gaze intensely. For a moment it looks like she's about to ask something else, but doesn't.

She stands up. “Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to see me.”

The pathologist heads for the door, hesitates, looks back – her fingers lingering on the handle. “Was it hard to watch?” She asks quietly.

Stella sighs, sets her glass down. There is no right way to answer this.

Reed shakes her head. “Sorry, stupid question.”

Stella walks towards her, catches her elbow as Reed opens the door. “Tanya...”

What follows happens with the fluidity of choreography that Stella, for once, does not initiate. Reed turns abruptly, catches Stella's face in both hands and crushes their lips together in a searing kiss. Stella feels the room spin round as her back hits the door, slamming it shut. Reed's fingers tangle in her hair, chasing her tongue feverishly with her own and this is nothing, nothing like the well-behaved, public-place-friendly kisses they shared in Bert's Bar.

Stella kisses her back with everything she's got. Her hands slide from Reed's narrow waist down the curve of her hips, pulling her forward, sliding a knee up between her legs, inner thigh brushing against warm leather.

When Reed whimpers inside her mouth the sudden jolt that courses from her chest to her pelvis acts as a circuit breaker. Stella pulls back, breathless. Reed's pupils are huge and dark in the soft light of the room. With her flushed cheeks, tumbled black hair messily framing her face, she’s never looked more lovely. Stella knows how one night stands are supposed to look like, feel like, and this isn't one of them.

Reed takes a step back, licks her lips. “Uhm, I didn’t mean to do that.” Her eyes are dancing though. 

“Could have fooled me.” Stella straightens up, pushes herself off the door. “Go home, Professor.”

Reed blinks away the quicksilver hurt that flashes in her eyes. “So, this is payback, huh?” She asks, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“No. This is me needing sleep and a clear head to interrogate a sociopath tomorrow.” Stella reaches out, runs her thumb over Reed's lower lip thoughtfully, hears the slight catch in her breath. “And I can't do that if I'm distracted.”

Reed looks suitably chastised for a moment, but recovers quickly. “Do I distract you?”

“More than I'm comfortable with.”

“Do you need me to apologise?”

Stella chuckles, remembering their conversation over breakfast from the day before. “No.”

Reed nods slowly. “Look, I don’t claim to know or understand what’s happening here,” she says, waving a hand between the two of them. “So, yes, I’m going to go home. I need to fetch my kids tomorrow -- before my brother ruins their education entirely, and you, of course, need to focus on this investigation.” She goes to open the door again. “We’ll talk later -- or maybe, maybe we won't have to talk.”

And the smile Reed shoots her then is so devastating, Stella is terribly tempted to throw her on the bed behind her, peel her clothes off and watch her come. 

Instead she watches her leave.

Because one night stands do not mean anything.

But this, this means something.

Stella picks up her glass, kicks her shoes off and sits on the edge of the bed. She finishes her drink, leaves the glass on her bedside table, lets herself fall backward on the mattress. She stares at a barely visible crack on the far edge of the ceiling.  


“Fuck.” She breathes out. 

~~~  
May 9th 2012

Stella ties the sash of her dressing gown, gazing down at the young detective softly snoring in her bed. 

Was it a good idea or a bad idea? 

Maybe a little of both. She certainly feels more relaxed now, more in control, her focus regrouping like metal beads around a magnet. She hadn’t slept well the night before, her body thrumming with a deep-seated need that no amount of personal attention could fix. She’d woken up with a start a couple of times, scrabbling for a diary that was no longer there. All she could remember now was the afterburn of arousal mixed with blind panic, the vague imprint of an endless fall. And to make matters worse she had to watch Paul Spector pleasure himself in front of a sixteen year old. She wished she could say every single part of her had been utterly, completely repulsed by it. The civilised part, the professional part, most definitely were. But the more primitive regions of her brain -- where such things as moral compass didn’t mean a damn thing -- had been… intrigued? 

So, she’d fucked Tom Anderson. Because he was there, convenient, and meant absolutely nothing to her. 

The boy must have gotten quite an ego boost out of it too. She’d been so keyed up, she’d orgasmed twice before he’d even entered her. Once against his knee and once against his mouth. 

But her eyes had been closed the whole time.

She wasn’t seeing him. 

.../...


	5. Blood

Sitting in her study, Reed took a sip of her lukewarm tea as she went through a pile of unopened mail. The house was eerily quiet now that her daughters had left, taking their cheerful little girl chatter with them.

“Mummy, can we both marry Merida?”

“Of course you can, sweetie.” She’d figured eight minutes before the school run wasn’t the right time to have a meaningful conversation about same gender polygamous unions with Disney princesses.

She crumpled an envelope and threw it towards the waste basket. The paper hit its aluminium edge, skidding to a halt against the door. Her aim was rarely off.

She leaned back in her chair, casting a critical eye on the clutter around her. The medical journals, the stacks of files and books -- she really could use another bookshelf.

She swivelled the chair towards the bay window. The sun was playing hide and seek between gray clouds. At the far end of the garden, the Judas tree was shedding purple petals all over the lawn which glistened from an earlier rain.

Not for the first time that day, Reed brought her fingers to her lips. She felt strangely calm. Which was a sharp contrast with that other night, when she’d all but run out of the Merchant Hotel, waves of tangled emotions crashing against her ribcage. _I can’t... I’m sorry. I’m sorry._

_You just cheated on your husband, calm is the last thing you should be._

_It was just a kiss._

_Because Stella kicked you out before it became anything else. And you would have ‘gone with the flow’ this time around._

_Yes, I probably would have._

Reed was a pragmatist who believed everything happened for a reason. Not having seen or heard from Stella in two days made it easier to assess the situation with the same clinical detachment she bestowed on the corpses she had to work on.

Stella had pulled something forth in her -- a sense of self she had not realised she’d lost, buried under the layers of professional duties and motherhood.

Stella, who looked at her like she’d figured it all out. Like she could polish her bare, peel all her unnecessary rinds away like a strange fruit.

Reed found it both frightening and exhilarating, like running at full speed along a chalk cliff.

And truth be told: she was curious.

The pathologist shook her head and turned back towards her desk. Maybe she was just overthinking this. She crumpled another empty envelope and threw it again.

This time the paper ball landed neatly in the basket.

~~~~

Reed had been typing up reports for about an hour, when her laptop chirped. A slow smile spread across her face. _James._

She opened Skype and accepted the video call. The broad grin of her husband greeted her.

“Jaanu,” he said.

“Honey, where are you?”

“Internet cafe in Banjar.”

“Banjar? What happened?” According to his schedule, James was supposed to be deep inside the Pin Valley National Park.

“Sprained ankle.”

“Oh, darling, are you all right?”

James kept on smiling, “I’m fine. And it was worth it, we found a beautiful specimen of Ctenopteris subfalcata.”

“Did you?” Reed grinned. His neverending enthusiasm for all things green was one of the things she loved about him.

“I almost landed on it. I would never have forgiven myself if I’d crushed it. They’re extremely scarce, you know.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“How are the girls?”

Missing their daddy, she didn’t say. “They want bows and arrows.”

James’ deep laughter made the speakers of her laptop crackle.

“Let me guess, still obsessed with ‘Brave’?”

“More than ever. They haven’t asked me to dye their hair red yet, but I suspect it’s only a matter of time.”

James grinned. “I will be stuck here for at least a week. I will try to call again when they’re home.”

“They will love that.” Reed hesitated, drumming her fingernails on the desk, then asked, “James, do you remember our fifth wedding anniversary in Paris?”

“You mean when I wanted to take you for a romantic lunch at the Tour d’Argent and you dragged me all the way to the Museum Dupuytren instead, because you wanted to see their collection of deformed fetuses in jars? You bet, I remember. I had nightmares for a week.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I’m a quiet dreamer. You remained none the wiser.”

“Is that so?”

“Hm, hm. But you did make it up to me, so I didn’t complain.”

Reed smiled, remembering -- their naked bodies, croissants crumbs on white starched sheets. “Do you recall the conversation we had on that bench near Notre Dame?”

James tilted his head. “When we promised to always be honest with each other, no matter what? Yes, I do. Why?”

Reed opened her mouth to speak but the words would not come out.

“Tanya, what is it?” James was no longer smiling, but sounded more puzzled than worried.

Reed took a deep breath. “James. I met someone. Someone I like very much. But I haven’t… I mean, I don’t --”

“Who is he?” Her husband's words became more clipped as he tried hard to keep his tone even.

“She.”

“She?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m afraid not.”

James exhaled through his nose like a bull. “All right. Who is she?”

“Someone I work with. You don’t know her.”

“What is this? Mid-life crisis?”

“James --”

“Is it serious? Have you slept with her?”

“No.” Reed looked away from the screen. Her eyes landed on the brass letter opener that was a gift from one of her many aunts. The handle represented Ganesha, the elephant god.

Yeah, she could use some wisdom, right about now.

“And you what? Want my blessing to have an affair?” James continued.

Reed ran a hand over her face. “No, of course not. Listen, nothing much happened. She doesn’t live here, she’ll be gone in a few days. I just… I had to tell you that’s all.”

“I see.”

“Please, don’t be upset.”

James scoffed. “That’s asking a bit much, don’t you think?”

“I know. I’m sorry. Look, I have to go. Try calling again tonight and we’ll talk some more, okay?”

“You know I love you, right?” He sounded more hurt than angry and she hated it.

“I love you too,” she choked out.

“Apparently, not enough.”

The video feed disappeared abruptly.

Reed closed her laptop, stood up. She opened the bay window. The smell of grass and rain rushed inside the room.

And when she looked at the Judas tree in the distance, all she could see was a purple blotch.

She went back to her desk to grab a tissue. Next to the letter opener, her mobile phone buzzed. She checked the caller ID. It was Eastwood.

She felt a coldness run down her spine. There was only one reason for the PSNI to call her directly.

Dead bodies.

She answered the call.

~~~

Eastwood had been infuriatingly brief. All Reed knew as she gunned her motorbike towards Slieve Dove forest, was that Spector had led a team of officers into the woods to find Rose but something had gone wrong, resulting in at least one casualty. “Did they find Rose? Is she alive?” she’d barely had time to shout in the receiver. Eastwood had replied with an impatient “yes” before hanging up.

The mantra going on in her head as she drove towards the forest had been: “Stellapleasebealivepleasebealivepleasebealive”.

When she arrived at the top of the road, she spotted Hagstrom who signalled her to stop. Reed killed the engine and removed her helmet. There was a smell of damp pine sap in the air. In front of her, several paramedics were pouring out of an ambulance.

“Talk to me,” Reed told the policewoman, as she stepped off her bike, leaving her helmet on the seat.

“Jimmy Tyler came out of nowhere, shooting both Detective Anderson and Paul Spector. P.C. Ferrington neutralised him.”

Reed felt the knot in her stomach loosen some. Stella was alive, thank God. She opened her saddlebags, retrieved an over-suit and her case of equipment.

“Who’s the casualty?” She asked Hagstrom as she ripped open the oversuit bag. Further ahead, there was a gathering of police officers. She recognised Ged Green among them.

“Tyler and possibly Spector too,” Hagstrom replied, “It’s a bloody mess, Professor,” the young officer allowed herself to comment.

Reed frowned. “Jimmy Tyler? Why is that name so familiar?” she asked while zipping her suit up.

“He was with William Nash when there was that shooting two days ago. He escaped in Nash’s van. Tyler blamed Spector for his wife leaving him. He had been their grief counselor after their son died from meningitis,” Hagstrom explained.

“A man with a dead son shoots a man who kills daughters. Would this qualify as poetic justice I wonder?” Reed mused as they both hurried towards the scene.

Hagstrom shrugged. “I have no idea, Professor.”

The first thing Reed focused on upon reaching the crime scene was Stella, who was kneeling on the ground, holding Spector in her arms with her head bowed down, her right hand pressed hard on his stomach. Two of the paramedics she’d seen running ahead were crouching next to them, pulling out equipment from their green backpack.

A couple of yards away Detective Anderson sat up, leaning against P.C. Ferrington. There was a dark stain on his left shoulder. He was staring towards Stella with hard eyes, ignoring the third medic who had began cutting the sleeve of his jumper.

What was that about?

She had neither time, nor the inclination to guess. She turned her attention towards the edge of the path, where Jimmy’s body lay sprawled like a broken puppet. He was her job, the reason she’d been called, so she headed towards him, snapping a pair of gloves on and a mask into place. She knelt by his side, searched for his pulse, found none, as she expected. Ferrington’s bullet had likely perforated his heart. Jimmy Tyler would never pull a trigger again.

Someone cried out. A spine-chilling, primal sound of rage and loss. Reed looked over her shoulder. Behind her one of the the paramedics had slid his hands under Stella’s arms and was lifting her away from Spector. She fought him off briefly, before stumbling backwards.

The medic let her go and rushed forward to help his colleague attend to Spector. Reed sprung to her feet to run towards Stella who was now standing a few feet away on unsteady legs, looking dazed, blood dripping from her right hand.

Ged beat her to it, stepping behind Stella to wrap a blanket around her shoulders. Ged Green, always at the right place, at the right time. Stella had once described him as ‘the most efficient man in the PSNI’ which, coming from the detective and her views on men in general, was high praise. Ged was indeed efficient but in an unassuming way.There was no macho posturing. He was a man of few words who did his job well and that was that.

“Do you need anything, Detective Superintendent?” Reed heard him ask.

Stella did not reply but did tug the blanket closer around her.

Reed came to a halt in front of them, pulling her mask and hood down. “Detective Superintendent,” she said gently, laying a gloved hand on her forearm, “are you all right?”

Stella remained silent, her gaze fixed on the ambulance where Spector was being lifted on a gurney. Reed met Ged’s eyes. The man nodded and walked away while lifting a radio to his ear. The ambulance left, sirens blaring. Reed felt Stella’s legs falter and caught her elbow, strengthening her grip. “God, you’re shaking, come here.” She slid one hand across Stella’s shoulders and pulled her close, rubbing her back soothingly. That earned her a few quizzical looks from the officers milling around the scene but she didn’t care. Stella’s breath was shallow against her neck, her body coursed by random tremors. Likely Acute Stress Disorder, Reed thought.

“We should get you to a hospital as well.”

Stella’s body went rigid against hers.

“Not a big fan of that idea, huh?” Reed translated. There was no reply, but Stella’s blood-caked fingers curled up tighter against her chest as they clutched the blanket edges. Reed resumed stroking her back. “We need to get you out of here in any case.” The pathologist chewed her lip, considering her options. “How about --”

“Stella!”

Assistant Chief Constable Jim Burns was marching towards them at a brisk pace.

Reed pulled back but was reluctant to let go entirely, no matter what propriety dictated. She linked their arms together, helping Stella remain upright.

“Stella. Are you hurt?” Burns asked. His hand reached out urgently.

Stella flinched. Burns pulled his hand back as if he’d been stung. Reed didn’t know Burns well, but judging by the cloud passing over his dark eyes, she could see that this little rejection - which, considering Stella’s state, was unlikely to be personal - smarted. These two had history. What kind or how much, Reed had no clue but she guessed it had to be enough for him to feel it was okay to knock at Stella’s hotel door at eleven at night.

“Are you hurt?” He repeated. When no answer was forthcoming, he turned his attention towards Reed. “I was told she was fine.”

“The blood’s not hers,” the pathologist explained. “She was preventing Spector from bleeding out.” Reed tightened her hold on Stella’s arm. “However she is in shock.”

Burns nodded. “Leave it with me, Professor. I’ll take her to the hospital.”

Reed shot a quick sideways glance at Stella. Her eyes were downcast, staring at the ground. If she was following any of this, she gave no indication.

“I think I need to stay with her, Sir.”

Burns bristled. “This is not your job, Professor.” Reed wondered if he was just angry at the godawful shooting mess, worried about Stella, or if he’d heard about their public display of affection in Bert's Bar. He probably had. This kind of news travelled fast.

“I know, but she needs to feel safe, be with someone she trusts,” Reed was using her calm, reasonable doctor/patient voice. “And right now, she feels safe with _me._ ”

“And how on earth do you know that for sure?” Impatience and irritation were coming off the ACC in waves.

“She doesn’t flinch when I touch her, Sir.” Reed replied. A low blow, but she could feel Stella shivering against her and her patience was running out.

Burns eyes widened, a blue vein at his temple looked as if it was about to pop. Reed braced herself for the violent backlash she had no doubt would follow.

But all Burns did then was look at her, _really_ look at her until something shifted in his face, as if he were pulling something back. “What do you suggest then, Professor?” He asked in a more even, professional tone.

Reed swallowed, both thrown and grateful that this would not devolve into a pissing contest. “She can come with me.”

“To the mortuary?” Burns shook his head. “This isn’t --”

“She can stay in my office. Besides, the main hospital is just a wing away, should she need medical attention” she held up a hand, “which I will make sure she gets,” she preempted, “as soon as she is a little more… together.”

Burns bent his knees and tilted his head to try and catch Stella’s eyes. “Stella, is this what you want?”

They both waited a few seconds, but Stella remained mute, her gaze absent, both hands curled under her chin.

Burns sighed. “What about him?” Burns nodded towards Tyler’s body.

“I can have a colleague take over the crime scene work.”

Burns caught her eyes again and stared at her once more with that same unnerving intensity. _Yeah_ , Reed thought, _go ahead and judge me. Judge me and decide if you’re gonna be a jealous prick about this or let me do what’s the best for your colleague or friend or whatever the hell she is to you._

Burns ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Ok, do it,” he eventually relented.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Hagstrom will drive you,” he said, in a tone that brooked no arguments.

Reed nodded. She was fine with this. She could ask Hofner, her lab tech and fellow biker to come and fetch her Suzuki later.

Burns went to have a word with Hagstrom while Reed called her office and a few minutes later they were leading Stella towards one of the police cars. Reed ushered her in, got rid of her over-suit, quickly went to put her tools back in her saddlebags and came back to sit down next to Stella in the back of the vehicle. As she was about to shut the door, Burns leaned over. “How long?” He asked.

Reed frowned. “Before she snaps out of it? It’s hard to tell. Could be hours, could be days. It very much depends how far down the rabbit hole her mind went to protect itself; because that’s what this is: self-preservation.”

Burns straightened up. “I expect regular updates on her condition.”

“Of course.”

Burns shut the car door. Hagstrom started the engine and they drove off.

As soon as the crime scene was in the distance, Reed gathered Stella in her arms. “When all of this is done, you owe me a drink,” she murmured, kissing her temple and stroking her hair.

She caught Hagstrom’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Is everything all right, Officer?” she asked with a touch of defiance.

“Yes, Professor. Everything is fine,” Hagstrom replied with a small smile.

As Reed relaxed back in her seat, she felt Stella nestle closer, her hands - which had been curled under her chin the whole time - lowered and went to seek the warmth of her waist.

Reed’s breath caught in her throat, she looked up and had to blink several times. _Oh, Stella. I can’t feel this way about you,_ she thought, resting her chin on top of her friend’s head.

The police car sped through the city, Reed watched the streets of Belfast roll by, her heart quietly breaking.


	6. Soul

She can’t close her eyes; the darkness behind her eyelids more disturbing than the world spinning around her. She hears everything, feels everything, sounds and touches and smells -- dart-like, precise. The muscles in her right shoulder still ache, so does her wrist. The webbing between her fingers remembers the blood squishing through them in a crimson, sticky mess. Later the blood turned dark, cracked over her hands like a desert lakebed. She didn’t want to look at it. So she stared at the ground, trying to make sense of the pattern a handful of pebbles made. It kept her busy while people talked around and over her. She heard everything they said, but none of it made sense. 

She’s looking at Reed’s jacket sleeve now. She can feel an engine humming underneath her, the forward momentum as the car she’s in moves. They’re going somewhere. She doesn’t care where. She breathes in. Reed smells of waxed leather, Dove soap and something flowery she can’t quite identify. Stella flexes her fingers against her waist, thumbs following the rhythm of her ribcage, turns her head until her cheek rests in the crook of Reed’s neck. She fancies she can hear the blood rushing underneath her skin, the carotid artery pulsing, thousands of blood vessels whispering. 

She’s so warm. 

The car stops. Reed pulls away, speaks, her voice melodious and foreign. Stella hears every word, but her mind can’t focus long enough to connect them into anything that would mean something. Then Reed tugs on her wrist. This Stella understands. She’s being asked to follow. 

And so she does. 

She is cold again. She tugs at the blanket covering her shoulders. 

It’s not enough. 

Automatic doors open in front of her. She follows Reed into a hallway then stops. She knows where she is. She recognizes the smell. 

_Daddysdeaddaddysdeaddaddysdeaddaddysdead._

She doesn’t want to go there. 

Reed speaks again, her voice soothing. Stella feels her hand rubbing her back, urging her forward. 

She lets Reed guide her down the corridor, because what else can she do? 

She is being led to an office. Stella is relieved when they enter. She knows this place. 

Reed sits her down on the sofa and moves away. Stella wants to catch her hand to get her to stay. She needs to feel her warmth again. But her body has gone remote -- non-compliant. Her muscles and joints unresponsive and useless. 

She watches Reed disappear through a door. 

Paul Spector’s face - Peter - floats in front of her. She is fascinated by the pallor of his skin, the network of thin blue veins crisscrossing his eyelids. His eyes open and Stella stares unblinking into the void. There is no life there, no love, just horrific gnawing need that scrapes at her insides like jagged flints. 

Someone touches her. Stella jumps, folds in on herself. She can’t let any of this out. It needs to be contained. Her teeth hurt inside her jaw. 

She’s got this. 

She’s got this. 

~~~

 

“Stella, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Reed sits on the sofa, holding a damp cloth she fetched to clean Stella’s blood-caked hands. She runs her free hand across Stella’s bowed back, along her shoulders, down her arms, over her white knuckles, clenched in a death grip around her knees. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s over now. It’s all over now.” 

It takes a long time, but eventually, she feels Stella relax under her touch, hears her breathing slow down. After a few more minutes, the detective uncurls herself, sits up straighter on the sofa. 

“Let’s clean you up a little,” Reed says gently. 

She takes one of Stella’s hands in hers, starts wiping it with the cloth she’s been holding. The dried blood comes off easily. The air around them smells metallic. 

Stella lifts her head and for the first time that day seems to be really looking at her. 

“There you are,” Reed says softly. She takes her other hand and cleans it as well, her movements slow, careful. 

Reed finishes wiping off the worst of the blood, examines her work. Stella’s nails could use a good scrub but it can wait. Reed stands up, disposes of the cloth in the biological waste bin. “Why don’t you lie down and rest for a while?” She fusses with the blanket around Stella’s shoulders, kneels to catch her eyes, “I’ll be in the next room if you need me, okay?” Jimmy Tyler’s body has just been brought in and Reed needs to start his autopsy. 

Stella’s nod is minute but it’s there. 

Reed smiles, then rises and heads for the autopsy bay. 

~~~

 

Stella is not sure if she slept or passed out from exhaustion. Her eyes feel gritty and dry. Everything hurts. Reed walks in, a phone glued to her ear, in the middle of an animated exchange in what Stella recognizes as Hindi. 

The pathologist perches on a corner of her desk. Stella slowly pushes herself up on both elbows to look her way. Reed covers the mouthpiece with a hand. “How are you feeling?” she asks. 

Stella shrugs, pushes the blanket away, sits up. 

Reed jots something down on a Post-it, says a few more words before hanging up. 

“I had to ask my brother to pick the girls up from school again. He was letting me know he left them home with the babysitter.” Reeds pushes herself off the desk. “He’s threatening to call social services,” she adds with a grin. 

Reed comes to sit next to her. “You’d like my brother. He teases me mercilessly, but he’s a good man.” 

Stella lifts an eyebrow and Reed bursts out laughing. “No! I don’t mean like that. It’s just... in our line of work we deal with so many bad men. Sanjeev - and my husband for that matter - help me remember there are truly decent guys out there. Even if they both drive me insane on a regular basis.” 

She knows what Reed is doing - trying to bring some normalcy back in their world through small talk - but she’s grateful for it just the same, even if she can’t join in.

She’s not there yet. 

Reed’s eyes turn serious. “What do you need?” 

“Where is he?” Her own voice sounds unfamiliar, broken. 

Reed hesitates, holds her gaze. “He’s in the ICU, in a critical condition. The bullets went through his spleen and one of his lungs. They don’t know if he’s going to make it yet.” 

“Rose?” 

“She’s stable. Dehydrated and suffering from hypothermia, but she should pull through.” She pats Stella’s knee. “You saved her life.” 

The room is swimming in front of her, the cuts on Rose’s arm flickering before her eyes like an hellish magic lantern's projection. Stella presses a shaky hand over her eyelids, breathes in and out as slowly as she can manage. Reality keeps crumbling like sand castles at high-tide around her and she hates the feeling. 

“Hey, come here.” Reed wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulls her close. “I promised Burns I wouldn’t let you out of here without a medical exam.” 

Stella groans, lets her hand drop heavily on her lap. “I’m fine.” 

Reed releases her. “Hold your arm up,” she commands. 

“What?” Stella turns her head to frown at her friend. 

“Stretch your hand in front of you, palm facing the floor.” 

“Why?” 

“Do it.” 

Stella rolls her eyes, but does what Reed asks.   

“Hold still.” 

“I am still.” 

“You’re trembling.” Reed catches her fingers, closes her hand around them firmly. “You’re not fine.” 

Stella snatches her hand away, shoves it in her coat pocket. She leans her head back against the sofa, closes her eyes. “You asked what I needed. What I need is a bed,” she breathes out. 

Silence stretches between them. She hears Reed shift next to her. Stella opens her eyes, lets her head fall to one side to meet her gaze. 

Reed sighs. “Okay, fine, screw Burns. But I’m not taking you back to your hotel. You’re staying at my house tonight.” 

Stella doesn’t have the energy to argue with this. 

~~~

 

Inside Reed’s home, Stella watches as Reed pays the babysitter. The young woman, probably a student, smiles at her on her way out, her nose ring catching the light as she walks past her. 

Reed helps Stella out of her coat, takes her own jacket off, hangs both of them on a peg in the hallway. 

“Come on,” she says. 

They go up the stairs quietly. Reed leads her to the guest bedroom and ushers her in. She switches on the bedside lamp. The multicoloured stained glass of the lamp shade casts soft coloured patches on the pale blue walls. Stella remembers being amused by them the first night she slept there. It feels like a lifetime away. 

“Do you need anything?” 

Stella shakes her head, sits on the edge of the bed, bends forward to take her boots off. Her uncooperative hands struggle with the zippers. She removes her jacket, her movements sluggish, embarrassingly clumsy. She stares at the wings of dried blood smeared over her silk top. She looks up. Reed is still hovering in the doorway, brow knitted with concern. 

“Hold on,” she says before disappearing. She comes back a few minutes later,  hands Stella a man’s navy pajama shirt. “Here, try this.” 

She helps Stella pull her top off, meets her eyes in a silent question. Stella nods. Reed leans forward to unclasp her bra, slides it off her shoulders, helps her into the soft cotton shirt, buttons it up. 

“This isn’t how I’d pictured taking your clothes off,” Reed whispers, kneeling down. Her precise fingers unzip her trousers and slide them off. 

Stella’s lips curve a little at that. 

Reed strokes her upper arm, plants a soft kiss on her cheek. “Try to get some sleep, okay? I’m two doors up, if you need anything,” she tells her before standing up. 

Stella slips under the duvet, exhaustion weighing her limbs down like lead casts. Her eyes follow Reed as she closes the bedroom door gently behind her. 

Stella wonders what she would have done if she’d asked her to stay. 

Peter smirks knowingly above her, his face smeared with broken rainbows. 

~~~~

 

Stella’s eyes blink open. There is a little girl standing by her bed, with tousled black hair and a long pink striped t-shirt. Her bedroom door is ajar, light from the hallway, a bright strip under the child’s feet. 

“Are you sick?” The little girl asks. She can’t be older than six. 

Stella props herself up against the pillows. “Who told you I was sick?” 

The child climbs on the bed, sits cross legged by her feet. Stella recognises Reed’s almond eyes, the willful point of her chin. “Mummy said not to disturb you because you’re poorly.” 

Stella smiles. “I’m better.” 

The little girl tilts her head. “Do you work with my mum?” 

“I do.” 

“Are you a pathologist?” She enunciates the word carefully, looks up at Stella with pride at being able to use such a grown-up word. 

“No, I’m a police officer.” 

The child’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “Do you catch bad people?” 

Stella shrugs. “Sometimes.” _(And sometimes, bad people catch me.)_

The little girl beams at her. She’s missing a front tooth. “I can teach you how to run faster, so you’ll catch more.” 

“Amani!” Reed enters the room, says something in Hindi to her daughter who bolts out of the bed and rushes outside the room. 

“I’m sorry,” Reed says, tightening the sash of her green bathrobe, “this one’s as curious as a cat.” 

Stella smiles. “That’s okay.” She runs her fingers through her clammy hair. She can’t wait to get under a shower. “She looks like you.” 

“Yeah, half my genes, none of my patience.” Reed comes closer, sits on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling? Did you sleep?” 

Stella nods. “I did, thank you.” She isn’t lying. She did sleep unexpectedly soundly, the dreamless sleep of the dead. She suspects it won’t last, that she finds herself in the deceptively quiet eye of a storm, but she’ll take whatever she can get. She looks down at the white duvet covering her. She wants to express her gratitude, for yesterday, for the way Reed took care of her when she was free-falling, but doing so might lead to acknowledging that exposed, inflamed nerve that is her obsessive connection with Spector and she just feels too raw for this kind of honesty. 

Even with her. 

Reed pats her leg, stands up. “I have to go get the girls ready for school.” She heads for the door, looks over her shoulder. “I talked to Burns last night. You have the day off.” 

Stella shakes her head, “That won’t be necessary.” 

Reed shoots her one of those beautiful guileless smile which causes fireflies to flare low in her belly. “Take the day off, Stella.” 

Maybe she will. 

~~~~

Stella makes her way downstairs. Her damp hair feels blissfully cool against her neck. Her body is humming again, that low pitched tension that is so much a part of herself, she hardly notices it anymore. (Except when it vanishes like it did yesterday. The stillness had been terrifying.) She accepts it for what it is, an excess of nervous energy she is aware impacts on the choices she makes. She goes with it rather than fight it. It usually works out. _(Did it work out with Olson though? Was that sweet night worth the price you paid for it?)_  

She finds Reed in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. 

“Coffee or tea?” Reed asks when she sees her. 

“Coffee, please.” The sleeves of the white terrycloth robe Reed left for her in the bathroom are slightly too long. She rolls them up a little. “Who took your daughters to school?” she asks, noticing Reed is still wearing the green bathrobe she saw her in earlier.   

Reed closes the dishwasher. “I carpool with other parents. It’s not my week.” 

Stella nods, sits down at the kitchen table. Reed brings her a mug of coffee and a bowl of cereal she didn’t ask for. 

“You need to eat,” she orders. 

Stella smirks. “Citizen Cane, uh?” 

“Damn right. Milk?” 

“Please.” Reed goes to the fridge and comes back holding a glass bottle. As she leans over to pour some milk in Stella's bowl, the lapels of her robe gape open, revealing the soft curves of her breasts. 

Stella admires the view until Reed catches her looking. The pathologist straightens up quickly, briefly sets the milk bottle on the table to tighten the sash of her robe, then turns on her heels to go busy herself at the far end of the kitchen. Stella's lips curve against the rim of her coffee mug as she watches Reed open a cupboard and leave the milk next to a box of Jaffa cakes. 

"Shouldn't it go back in the fridge?" Stella asks. 

"Hm, what?" Reed shoots her a puzzled glance over her shoulder. 

"The milk." 

Reed looks up at the open cupboard. 

"Oh, right." She picks the bottle up again, goes to put it away in its rightful place. 

"Do I distract you?" Stella teases, as Reed closes the fridge. 

Her friend turns around to face her, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yes, you do. I am not used to having women stare at my breasts,” she answers bluntly. 

Stella picks her spoon up. “Oh, I’m sure plenty of women have stared at them before, but you probably didn’t notice.” 

Reed rolls her eyes. “Nonsense.” 

“What? You have a nice rack, as they call it. Both men and women are bound to look.” Stella counters while stirring the mix of milk and cereal in her bowl. 

Reed waves a hand. “Oh, just eat your breakfast.” 

Stella grins, then brings a spoonful of cereal to her lips. She’s not hungry but knows her body needs food. She chews mechanically until her bowl is empty while Reed potters around in the kitchen. 

“I called the hospital,” Reed tells her while wiping a mug with a dishcloth. 

Stella drinks her coffee. Waits for her to say more. 

Reed drops the cloth on the counter and joins her at the kitchen table. She wipes a smattering of crumbs with the blade of her hand. “Spector is going to live.” 

Stella digests this. “Good.” 

Reed’s eyes widen. “Good? Why is this good? Wouldn’t the world be a better place without someone like him in it?” 

“There is no justice in death.” Stella replies. _(And he has a daughter. A daughter who loves her daddy.)_  

“Is this what this is about? Justice?” 

Stella shrugs. “What else?” 

Reed leans back in her chair, drumming her fingers over the wood of the table. Stella has seen that look on her face before. In her mortuary, when she works. Sitting in front of her now, is Reed the scientist, the observer, her analytical mind making connections Stella would rather she didn’t make. “I won’t deny that part of you does this for justice,” she says, “but his uniqueness fascinates you. I believe the hunt is what drives you. The hunt is what you get off on.” 

Stella straightens her spine. “This is my job.” There is a warning in her voice. 

“Yeah.” Reed reaches out for her empty bowl, stands up and walks to the sink to leave it there.   

“You scare me sometimes,” she says, her back to her. 

Stella pushes herself off her chair, joins Reed by the sink, leaning her hip against the countertop. “I scare you?” 

Reed moves to face her. “Sometimes,” she replies softly. 

“You didn’t seem scared the other night in my hotel room.” Stella points out. 

Reed bites her lip. “I... I was curious. I got carried away.” 

Stella lifts a hand to run her fingertips along the side of Reed’s jaw. Reed closes her eyes. 

“And you’re not curious now?” 

Reed opens her eyes. Stella lets her hand drop by her side. 

“I talked to my husband.” 

“About what?” 

“I told him I was attracted to a woman I work with.” 

Stella lifts an eyebrow. “How did he take it?” 

Reed huffs. “What do you think? Not well.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

“I’m not sorry you kissed me, I’m sorry you feel guilty about it.” Stella shifts to move away, but Reed catches her wrist. 

“Wait. But here’s the thing. I don’t feel guilty. I feel sad. For him.” 

Stella takes a step forward until they’re only inches apart. “But you love him.” 

 

Reed sighs. “I do. But it doesn’t seem to matter when you’re here.” 

Stella is thrown off-kilter by this. Her throat tightens, clamping down on a well of emotions she fights to keep in check. This is why this is a mistake she thinks. For both of us. What is happening between them isn’t  just about sex. She should run. She should get dressed and leave. 

But she doesn’t. 

Reed is not the only one whose curiosity is getting the better of her. “Well, this is problematic,” Stella rasps. 

“It is.” Reed agrees, her thumb tracing soft lines on Stella’s wrist. 

Stella leans forward to kiss her, slowly, giving Reed plenty of time to back away. 

She doesn’t. 

Their lips touch gently, move without haste against one another. Stella traces the seam of Reed’s lips with the tip of her tongue. A pained little noise escapes Reed’s throat on the end of a breath as she opens her mouth. 

Stella keeps on kissing her with exquisite slowness, brushing Reed's tongue with her own, conveying all the things she never says, cannot say. She can’t remember the last time she kissed someone this way, wonders if she ever has, as she bends Reed’s back comma like, against the edge of the sink. 

Stella’s hands move to Reeds’ waist. She tugs at the sash of her green robe, pulling it loose. Reed’s fingers flutter like sparrows against her upper arms. 

Stella breaks the kiss to open Reed's robe. Save for a pair of plain cotton knickers, Reed is naked underneath, all dusky skin, full breasts, narrow waist and a stomach softened by motherhood. She is gorgeous.   

Stella smiles as she lets her gaze roam and Reed’s breath hitches, fingers clutching at the counter, a faint blush spreading on her chest. 

Stella pushes the robe off Reed's shoulders, kisses her way down the column of her throat. Reed’s hands fly to Stella’s head with a moan, nails catching in her hair when Stella latches onto her breast, her nipple wine gum hard under her tongue. 

Stella strokes the curve of her hip, follows a path down to her inner thigh, devastated by the softness of her skin. It only takes a curious glide of her thumb against her underwear to know Reed wants this as badly as she does. She lifts her head to meet her eyes. 

“Stella... ” Reed blurts out, the lines of her throat shifting as she swallows. Arousal and apprehension war in the shadows of her pupils. 

Stella holds her gaze, presses her thumb harder. Reed throws her head back with a whimper, hips bucking forward. 

It won’t take long to make her come. 

Stella straightens up to wrap Reed in her arms, polishes her bare back with long glides of her hands, flexing her fingers against the curve of her ass.  She peppers a line of kisses along Reed’s temple before taking her mouth again. Reed responds hungrily, fumbling with the knot of Stella’s robe until it comes loose. She pulls at Stella’s hips, breathing harshly into the kiss until they are both stomach to stomach, breast to breast. Reed bites Stella’s tongue when she feels her hand slide underneath the fabric of her underwear. 

The curl of two fingers inside her, the whispers of a thumb over her clitoris are indeed all it takes for Reed to start shaking. She tears her lips away with a gasp, her back arching. Stella feels the blunt prick of her nails on her shoulder blades as Reed smothers a sharp cry in the hollow of her throat.

Stella strokes her hair as she comes down, holding most of her weight against her. 

Reed slowly lifts her head, eyes dark and shimmering as a starless night. She trails her fingers over Stella’s brow, down her cheek, across her lips, before pulling her hand away. “I can’t want you like this,” she chokes out. 

“I know,” Stella says, her hands caressing her back. “Just today. Give me today,” she whispers below her ear. 

Reed draws a tremulous breath, hearing the words Stella doesn’t say.   _I need this, I need you_. 

“Today,” she acquiesces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter will be a short epilogue.

**Author's Note:**

> MY DEEPEST THANKS: 
> 
> Chapter 1 to 3: to hankmoodyblues, for being so patient with my idiosyncratic punctuation and for being a great sounding board.
> 
> Chapter 4 & 6: to the fabulous Schwarmerei1 who very kindly volunteered to beta this, introduced me to the wonders of Google Docs, kicked my erratic punctuation into shape, and taught me what pathologists's gloves really are made of.  
> S., I owe you a basket of chocolate Kalindas and yeah that chapter ending in the police car is for you.


End file.
